


Aziraphale and the Loneliest Whale

by Cactiintheminorkey



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The loneliest whale, Whales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactiintheminorkey/pseuds/Cactiintheminorkey
Summary: Crowley invented Youtube’s autoplay feature. Aziraphale wants to play whale matchmaker.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Aziraphale and the Loneliest Whale

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea, I've been in my house for WEEKS and I cannot stop thinking about the loneliest whale, who is real BTW.

On Tuesday, in South Downs, Crowley had pulled up a video of a tabby kitten and a husky snuggling on Aziraphale’s ancient computer. The video quality was perfect, of course, despite the computer never having been plugged in and in defiance of the nice glass of Chardonnay which had been spilled on it fifteen minutes prior.  
Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face melt a little as the kitten started to groom the dog’s ears, then pretended he hadn’t been watching with the same eagerness he displayed watching Aziraphale eat.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, soft and soppy.

“This is just the first step in my grand - my evil - my grand evil plan,” Crowley said. “We’ll get a kitten to muss up all your nice papers.”

“Very demonic, dear.”

“All cats are demonic,” Crowley said - an outright lie but one he suspected Aziraphale would let him get away with.

The doorbell rang and Crowley straightened up from where he’d been leaning over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale moved the mouse torturously slowly and Crowley liked to loom over him and point at the things he should be clicking.

“It must be the takeaway,” Aziraphale said, not moving an inch.

“I’ll get it, angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded, peering at Youtube, where another video had queued up.

“Ingenious,” Aziraphale said. “I could stay here all day.”

Less than five minutes later, when Crowley came back with bowls of curry and a new bottle, Aziraphale had his hands over his mouth, staring at the monitor, eyes wide.

“My dear boy, we must do something,” he said.

Crowley had, of course, invented autoplay. It seemed to him that too much of something was just as damning as not enough of it. Take away the choice to click and you could pin somebody down to a chair for hours. It was humans, though, who had taken that natural addictiveness and messed with the algorithm, making a downward spiral into darker, more alarming videos the longer a person watched.

He wouldn’t have guessed - though by now he should have - that keeping a person sitting in a chair required more anxiety than pleasure.

Which of course had led to Aziraphale, eyes wide and watery, watching some trash video on the world’s ten loneliest animals.

The voice on the video, a deep serious baritone, said, “ - and the loneliest whale still swims the ocean, singing his song for nobody to hear - “

Crowley turned off the monitor. “Your curry’s going cold, angel.”

Aziraphale said, “The whale sings at a frequency too high for other whales to hear -”

“Adam said no meddling - “

“He’s alone, Crowley. Nobody can even - “

Crowley put his face in his hands.

Which is how they’d ended up hovering above the smooth water in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, blue stretching as far as the eye can see. Aziraphale had changed his tie to match the hue of the water, which Crowley reluctantly acknowledged was a great look on him.

Aziraphale said, “He’s due to surface in forty seconds.”

“Wonderful,” Crowley said, “I’m thrilled. After all, what’s a little cetacean vocal surgery between friends?”

“We have to ask him first, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Maybe he likes his voice.”

Crowley checked his watch. Below them, ripples spread and began to grow.

“I’d forgotten how big whales were,” Crowley said. He hoped it wasn’t the kraken. _Oh God - Satan- Somebody, did Aziraphale think the kraken was lonely?_ Better not to mention it.

With a blast of air and sea, the whale surfaced, a great grey mound, rising like an island out of the otherwise featureless water. Aziraphale bent down, a little closer to the expanse of grey, like the whale had ears, and said something in a language made entirely of fluid, rising calls.

Crowley blinked. He’d never seen his husband speak whale.

What the whale said back was mostly untranslatable, a longform poem in iambic pentameter in a language Crowley was quite rusty in. He’d kind of lost touch with whales when they’d chosen the sea over the land.

However, he got the gist, which was a yes, a fervent yes.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The whale blew spray at them once more, then sank between the surface of the sea. Crowley could feel it in his bones, the strength of his call, audible, for the first time, to others.

“He can have a pod now,” Aziraphale said. “Or a mate.”

“Fight dolphins,” Crowley added, “Have complex love affairs with taken whales. I wish they had a reality show on pod life because whales get _wild_.”

Aziraphale leaned a little closer, taking his hand. “Even before I fell for you, I’d always thought how glad I was to have you here, seeing this all with me.”

Crowley kissed his cheek, then gave Aziraphale a real kiss, tasting the wine on his lips, slipping him a little bit of tongue before Aziraphale stepped back, laughing.

“You know what’s next?”

Crowley groaned. “Let me guess - the nine other animals on this list?”

Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley couldn’t bear to turn him down, couldn’t do anything other than make sure their curry stayed warm and click his fingers, vanishing them to visit the next of the lonely.


End file.
